


Touch Defiles

by ms_anthrophy



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Bloodplay, Bondage, Breathplay, Chanslash, D/s, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, S/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Surprises, Torture, dark!fic, slave!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-08
Updated: 2010-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_anthrophy/pseuds/ms_anthrophy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius Malfoy appreciates Harry Potter ...in his own way.</p>
<p>Not canon-compliant after Goblet of Fire. I am not very particular with time here but Harry is fifteen. Aside from the warnings that are already there, the story also contains something else that can be seen as kinda nasty but telling it would spoil the idea. (If you want to check it out, it's in the notes, at the end of the story.)</p>
<p><b>Disclaimer</b>: J.K. Rowling and various big companies own the Potterverse and all the characters. (Those Muggles' delusions of grandeur grow somewhat <i>tiresome</i>. -Lucius) I don't. Also, they make the money, not me. Not that I'd mind, pornography wants to be free!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Defiles

Touch Defiles

It would be an utter lie to say that Lucius Malfoy does not appreciate Gryffindor courage. Instead, he considers it to be a delicacy. Young Harry Potter is a true hero indeed and therefore a banquet fit for a king.

  
"Got me now, you bloody bastard. Satisfied?"  
"It may be so, Harry."  
"It's your fucking _happy day_, you posturing slime of a Voldemort's arse-licker! What do you want then? Torture? Rape? Murder?"  
"Taken in count that it was I who saved you from experiencing the whole scale of aforementioned practises in hands of rabid Death Eaters, I find your lack of gratitude rather inappropriate."

Lucius' eyes are cold and his smile is like razor blades, yet he does nothing except running one gloved hand down Harry's neck. The Gryffindor's Golden Boy would_ welcome_ a taste of pain now, just because waiting for it is so much worse. He imagines a thousand messy deaths for himself. Little fool.

Harry is at least wise enough to understand that Muggle fighting would be a rather poor choice against an experienced dark wizard. Very good, as Lucius would consider holding him at wand-point rather déclassé. The boy's rage, born out of helplessness, eats him inside like acid, hurting worse than a _Cruciatus_ curse. Well, maybe not, but the aristocratic blond thinks that using an Unforgivable right at the start would be 'overdoing it'.

Lucius leads Harry to Malfoy Manor's dungeons, a little smile on his lips when his captive huffs angrily at the sight of the torture room, clearly despising that such luxury and beauty come along with the promise of agony. How _rude._

 There is a mosaic of endless _Danse Macabre_ around the walls, made of alabaster and obsidian. Finely crafted serpent-shaped chains hang on the walls and the half-dried blood on the floor adds something beautifully real to the atmosphere. The merrily dancing skeletons grin and Lucius cannot but return the expression. Poor boy.

"If you do not mind, I would prefer you nude right now. To be honest, also if you do mind, Harry."  
"Rape is it, then? _Make me_, you filthy degenerate!"

Hate, the first refuge from fear. Lucius sighs and backhands the boy, knocking him down on the black marble floor.

"_Manners_, Harry."

Green eyes burn with wrath and contempt and somewhere behind that is hope to make the older wizard angry. Harry's only way of fighting back now; to break the posturing elitist bastard's calm content and send back even a slight bit of the pain Harry is feeling now. Too bad that Lucius is in complete control of himself. Even when he hits Harry so hard that blood and snot is flowing from his nose, it is like dancing to a complicated tune only the Malfoy patriarch can hear himself.

"You are perfectly aware that I can cast _Cruciatus_ on you until you plead to take my cock in your mouth or your arse for just a moment without the agony. Why would you choose to use up your strength so soon? Maybe you _want_ to give in?"

Lucius' drawl is silky and soothing when he presents Harry a dare. His lips curl into a playful smirk. A cat would smile like that when looking at a mouse. A cat contemplating how it wants to _play_ now when the little creature is bleeding, first wounds from sharp claws.   

Give in?  Harry curses under his breath, pulls the over-large sweater over his head and throws it in front of his captor as an answer. Lucius' eyes shine silver in malicious joy and his mouth wets with every garment shed and tossed angrily on the floor. This fight-or-flight-reaction, this misguided courage arouses him even more than Harry's adolescent body. The boy is simply delicious with hands crossed on his chest and trying to not be aware of his nudity.

"A true Gryffindor, I see. It seems that you are not frightened, dear Harry?"  
"I've fought Voldemort. Your _lord._ Twice. Like I would fear his lap-dog? You _wish_."  
"Do I?"

It is not yet time for answers. Also, it is so much more efficient to show than tell.

"_Petrificus Totalus. Mobilicorpus._"

The second spell keeps the black-haired Half-blood from falling on the floor. Frozen into a statue of defiance, Harry's green eyes burn with rage. Lucius throws his black, centaur-skin jacket to the floor with careful abandon, baring pale flesh, flawless except for the Dark Mark that only adds to the perfection of centuries of selective breeding. He walks around Harry, examining him like he is a fine, new-acquired sculpture. Lucius' patrician features betray no true emotions, his lust is completely hidden under a veil of casual appreciation.   

"_Revelio. Patefacio. Mobilis Clausus._" 

A simple iron door appears on the opposite wall. A sharp 'click' breaks the silence and the door opens. A Dementor floats into the room, reeking of an opened grave, of a week-old corpse. Lucius stands just behind Harry, his eyes a grey void of Schadenfreude. He knows that Harry  would gasp in horror if he _could_.

The living nightmare reaches a rotten hand towards the naked boy and Lucius revels in the way how Harry's Quidditch-toned body _would_ move, were he not frozen under the body-bind curse. The platinum-blond Pureblood's drawl is soft and gentle as he draws his wand and utters a spell.  

"_Expecto Patronum_."

Silvery fire emerges from the tip of his wand and takes the shape of a shining, completely white snow leopard. The predatory feline walks lazily towards the slithering creature, sending it back against the wall for a moment. Then Lucius' Patronus withdraws, allowing the Dementor to lick the surface of Harry's mind.

The snow leopard is like Lucius' reflection. It moves with a natural grace and there is smooth, calculated cruelty in how it walks away and lets the Dementor draw near. The creature breathes despair and hisses in hunger -and just at the moment when it has got a little taste of Harry's happy memories, the Patronus leaps between them and forces it to back down. Again and again.

Voldemort rises from the cauldron and runs his death-white fingers along his new body, every movement abhorrently lustful. Cedric Diggory touches the Portkey and dies, one time after another. Lily screams and her lifeless body falls to the floor, again and again.  

Lucius walks closer to Harry and hugs him, his erection, very visible through his black velvet trousers due to a &lt;i&gt;certain&lt;/i&gt; hereditary trait, pressed briefly against the black-haired Gryffindor's arse. The man breathes deep the lascivious flavour of cold sweat on Harry's skin. Lucius steps back and gestures his pet Dementor to claim its prey and then sends his Patronus to deny the prize from the rotting shadow. The snow leopard leaps and forces the Dementor back to its grimy cell.

"_Propincuus Clausus. Abscondo_."

The door closes and melts into the wall again. Lucius caresses Harry's left cheek and chin, his delicate, long fingers travelling slowly downwards. He allows a mildly satisfied sigh to escape from his thin lips. Lucius' eyes, incomprehensible in endless shades of cloudy grey, meet the boy's emerald-green gaze. There is something shaken and afraid behind the surface of hate and Harry so doesn't want Lucius to see it.  

"I hope I was able to provide a sufficient challenge for you, my little hero. Finite _Incantatem_."

The horror of the rotting spirit-form, memories and the complete vulnerability is too much. Harry tries to fight the forgiving darkness that overcomes his mind but there is no chance to succeed. Losing his consciousness, he collapses in Lucius' arms.  

                *****

  
Lucius allows Harry a mattress and a green duvet to keep him warm in one of the rooms in the dungeon. House elves come to give food for the boy, nourishing and sometimes even tasty. Lucius doesn't want to torment his toy too often, at least not directly. It would just be counterproductive.

Harry does fight indeed, not caring about his helpless situation. He spits hatred at the pain Lucius presents Harry with. There are so many different instruments -of which Lucius favours a mildly poisonous snake-whip, its little barbs leaving Harry feel dull ache for hours after the blond wizard has smeared healing potion on the red, angry welts on Harry's skin.

Even better is the plain silver knife, beautiful and so sharp that it seems to cut _air_ when Lucius flips it elegantly in his moon-pale fingers before sinking the blade into the Half-blood boy's unwilling flesh. So sharp that when he cuts Harry's skin, it does not even hurt at first. But the pain comes in a second when the wounds open into wide, deep gaps, releasing the bright red streams of sweet blood. Seeing the tissues, muscle and fat, so suddenly, makes Harry gasp and gag from disgust every time.

These sounds combined with the _drip-drip-drip_ of blood on the black marble dungeon floor make Lucius half-delirious with lust and it takes every bit of his self-control to utter the potent healing charm. He would love to take Harry there and then, dig his perfectly manicured fingernails deep into the open wounds and fuck the boy raw against the cold, damp wall but it is not yet the time. Lucius takes his time to appreciate every different flavour of the little saviour's downfall.

Oh yes, that plain fear is pleasant. Still, it pales in comparison to the horror in Harry's eyes the next night when Lucius introduces him to _Adstringo Suffocato._ The invisible magical cord does not hurt but it clings tight enough around the unmarked throat that there is no air to breathe. Harry's eyesight darkens and Lucius coaxes the first, almost soundless pleas from the boy's lips.

He lets the spell wane and enjoys the results. The absence of pain is _most_ convenient now when the cord is gone, as it makes Harry feel like it never was there. He loathes himself and his surrender so much that he had nothing vile enough to say. Lucius smiles with devious affection and licks Harry's tears from his flushed cheeks.

            *****

  
Lucius gives Harry another taste of his pet Dementor. This time the Gryffindor boy spends a whole night chained to a table like a sacrifice to dark gods with no names. The shapeless horror's shadow oozes through the walls. Harry knows it cannot reach him completely, he knows that all this is a long road leading somewhere he never wanted to go.

How viciously Harry ever cursed Lucius during those excruciating hours, in the morning light he welcomes the aristocratic blond with open arms and trembling hands, seeking comfort from the lean, warm body.

Then, just _then_ it does not _matter_ that Harry knows exactly that Lucius is responsible of his misery, or that there is something inside him that had just started to break. The only thing in his mind is the radiance of proud Lucifer tangled with him, moist lips drinking little, strangled sounds from Harry's dry mouth. Falling together, down, down, down.

"Don't... ever... please..."  
"How could I refuse as you ask so nicely? You will never see the creature again."

Lucius' touch is slow and sensual, like he is drawing complicated patterns on Harry's skin. Long, moon-pale hair brushes against the boy's bare shoulders soothingly and it feels too good to be alive. Soft fingertips ghost on Harry's hardening cock and he whimpers in uncertain pleasure.

The cruelty in Lucius' grey eyes is veiled in compassion like knives hidden under soft velvet when he kisses Harry again. Every single move he makes is perfectly calculated, caring, tender and most of all, _undemanding_. You get more flies with honey than with vinegar and now the flies make their nest inside the young Gryffindor's mind.

"You respond to my _care_ rather eagerly, Harry. Considering the circumstances, I still want you to know that it is not my desire to force you. Do tell if you wish me to stop and I will."

Harry knows that Lucius doesn't lie, at least not here and not now. Just one word and the aristocratic blond will step away, leave him clean -and cold and alone like he was for what felt like eternity. _No._ Harry doesn't want to drive this shining incubus away. No matter what the price, not now. Lucius has made sure of it.

A few hours ago Harry's existence was a descent in endless nightmare, hopeless but clear. Now the young Gryffindor feels all fluid-like, hazy and so needy it hurts and he clings unto Lucius like his life depends on him. Oh, it does, and the Death Eater savours the moment when the little messiah comes all over their entwined bodies, whimpering most deliciously.    

The next day Harry wakes up in a soft bed instead of a blood-stained mattress and damp dungeon. He feels bile rising in his throat from the memory of crying his release against Lucius' shoulder. How he had betrayed himself. He had not fought, he hadn't even bloody told the arrogant bastard to go fuck himself. Harry screams to silence the voice inside his head but it doesn't help. There may be an escape route from the Manor but there's no way for Harry to get away from himself.

Lucius sips absinthe and watches Harry's anguish through a one-sided mirror. How naive the little hero is, believing he can wear his weaknesses on his sleeve and remain clean inside. How little he still knows, believing that Lucius cannot get inside his skin again.

*****

  
Determined to fight a losing battle against his captor, refusing to give in until he eventually &lt;i&gt;does&lt;/i&gt;, Harry is irresistible. Lucius revels in the boy's descent, the taste of unsullied, virginal flesh. He is drunk with the boy's aching need and self-hatred, the hands that push the pale wizard away while the boy's cock is rock hard and glistening with precome. The confused disgust in Harry's eyes when he cannot deny that Lucius is &lt;i&gt;beautiful&lt;/i&gt;.

It doesn't matter how fiercely Harry tries not to respond to this intoxicating rapture Lucius coaxes from his body and his mind. Oh yes, he does fight and that makes every time Lucius draws Harry on the verge of orgasm so much sweeter. Every single frustrated whine kills a bit of him inside. There is freedom in slavery and Harry has never known freedom before. The agony of guilt made only for heroes fades away and comes back again.

Time passes and Harry's self-loathing becomes a rare treat. Lucius craves it like a drug, like melting honey with opium, and he forces it on the surface with one humiliation after another. He finally grants himself the decadent bliss of taking Harry's arse for the first time. Not much a determined saviour, Harry squirms against Lucius' lean body, pressed against a wall. He pleads for the platinum-blond wizard to receive his virgin arse.

"What do you want, little _hero_? What do you need?"  
"You... your cock inside me. Lucius? Please?"  
"Such a _whore_."

 Harry's Gryffindor stubbornness and his inability to accept change is not there. There is only the Boy Who Lived to become Lucius' little slut. The ecstasy. The agony. The shame in unspoken curses on the boy's lips when he climaxes, the silvery-blond wizard's cock deep inside his arse.

Harry tries to hold his tears back, silent because now he hates himself more than Lucius. You can expect anything sick and perverted from the depraved bastard but he himself, he should be _pure_. Strong enough to resist temptation and yet he offered his virginity freely.

Harry can't even deny that there is a part inside him that wants, no, _needs_ Lucius. Glorious Lucifer, the most beautiful of angels, fallen with pride and shining with lascivious darkness. The only thing Harry hopes is that Lucius would not come to him, all smooth edges and suave Malfoy charm because deep inside the boy knows that he can't resist him any more.

                *****

  
Only two weeks pass and Harry accepts his role as Lucius' fuck toy. A month has gone by and there is no difference between pleasure and pain to him, only the ecstasy gained whenever the decadent aristocrat feasts on his body.

Broken and re-made into something Harry would have loathed if he still was himself. He isn't. There is no need for restraints or threats. No more the Gryffindor's Golden Boy, Harry is lying, legs spread, on his back in the black silk sheets of a four-poster bed. Lucius watches him calmly, momentarily ignoring his own arousal. It is almost a shame...

He tangles his fingers in the black, unruly hair and tugs Harry's head backwards. The boy's gaze is fixed on Lucius' lean form, his lips parted in wordless craving. Harry takes Lucius' cock deep into his throat, each lick of his tongue almost reverent. He burns from the touch of dark incubus, burns slowly into ashes.

Lucius fucks Harry, rough and hard, and the boy moans in ecstasy. He thrusts his arse shamelessly against the blond Pureblood to get more of his cock inside him. There is nothing left from his hatred or his 'destiny' to fight Voldemort. It is like he was born to become willing flesh for Lucius to use and abuse. Harry's eyes are wide open with a burning need to please. The dessert.

"Who are you? What are you, now?"  
"Y-your slut. Yours."  
"Yes, you are mine indeed. _Avada Kedavra_."

A silent death, Harry's arse clenches around Lucius' cock, fever-hot and impossibly tight. A &lt;i&gt;petite mort&lt;/i&gt; with a hiss of pleasure like Parseltongue when the demoniacally beautiful wizard fills the body of his prey with his come for the last time.

Killed in the throes of passion, Harry's face is frozen in bliss. It is like a burial mask Lucius has made for the dead boy out of what he twisted and made _his._ Which, in the end, was everything.

Perfectly manicured long fingers caress Harry's face, the lightning-bolt scar slightly darker than the death-white skin. Lucius closes the glassy eyes that stare into nothingness. The pale wizard inhales deep the scent of sex and death.

The little messiah, he ended up as sacrifice for no one. Lucius orders the house elves to dispose Harry's remains discreetly, promising that they will pray for the death curse if their work is not completely perfect.

Tomorrow there is going to be a nameless grave in the Malfoy Manor's gardens and Harry's corpse will feed plants that yield raw material for potions forbidden -and mostly forgotten- by the Wizarding World. It is a small part of what the Malfoys are, nobility bred with carefully calculated precision, celebrated in incest and denying nothing from themselves. Lucius' soft drawl is the only sound in the luxurious bedroom.

"Festivals end as festivals must. Still, it is almost a pity."

Lucius brushes stray locks of silvery-blond hair off his angular, moon-pale face and sighs, thoroughly satisfied.

"_Almost._"

-Fin-

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> In case you are here for the spoiler: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.
> 
> I originally meant to write a short ficlet for Valentine's Day but it decided to grow. Great hail and epic "Thank you hon" for Luci from betaing and being generally awesome. Also, sincere thanks to Sarelon for helping with Lucius' Patronus. The title is filched from Death in June's song. As always, all kind of feedback is kindly asked for.


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